At A Glance
by Jubileyn
Summary: A series of rather random vignettes.
1. Awakened

Disclaimer: Dude, I'm not that awesome. Really.

A/N: Ta-da!! Today is a free day, so here is the beginning of a new series. I hope I don't scare you away with this. xD

Edit: Tweaked to fit the timeline.

**Awakened**

It was eight years later. The war was over.

Dark clouds gathered in the afternoon sky as a man trudged through the wet and brittle grass on a mission. That was the wrong word. His mission was complete; this, what he was doing now was simply his purpose, the only thing that kept him clinging to his wasteland life, devoid of anything which produced a spark of happiness.

At least, as it was now.

The light was gone from the heavy sky and his eyes, just as it had been that night. That night had nearly destroyed him and others, raping their world of what was so valuable to so many.

Bodies lay thick on the ground, some wounded and some... It was necessary, as all life transformations generally were. His destiny had laughed right in his pleading, broken face and robbed all he'd had, giving nothing in return.

The light may have left, but the tears hadn't. They'd never really surfaced before, just sat there, lurking behind his droopy eyelids. Even at the funeral, he hadn't cried. Perhaps it was because he couldn't see her body: it was locked in that confining box, and he had no desire to see it again.

He'd never imagined his life would be this empty with the Dark Lord vanquished. He knew it would never be easy, but this was beyond description. He was living in the shell of his own depression. And now there was no her to bring it back. She'd loop her arm through his and drag him out of it, forcing him to think about pleasanter things, about her.

Once, he'd snapped at her for it.

He was irritated that she found it appropriate for him to be musing about blessings. It made him want to laugh at the whole irony of it all. He had _blessings_? She just looked at him, with her tortured half-smile and pulled him closer to her, cradling his head in her arms. She spoke softly of what was worth living for, and of her love for him.

He had seen that same smile so much over the last few years. It was the only noticeable sign that a great Shadow had passed over her. She was marked by the unquenchable cruelty of that being, so disturbed he could not even be called a man, he had to destroy. He remembered her body, lying white and pale and unmoving on that cold floor. She looked almost wraithlike, the last of her dear soul pouring into his undeserving body.

Rage had driven him, stabbing at that book with utter hatred. How could anyone hurt something so pure? It was as though she was that unicorn in the Forbidden Forest and he was going to slaughter her without a worry or care. He felt a sense of completion wash over him, and as he watched that little girl, breathing her soul in once more in tiny, short hiccups, he thought, _nothing will ever touch you again, Ginny Weasley_.

The naiveté of a child.

He tightened in her grasp and she rested her head on his, speaking closer, as if she knew what he was feeling. And she probably did. He forced himself to calm and listened quietly, becoming soothed by the cadence of her smooth, hushed voice and the drumming rhythm of her heartbeat.

He had apologized afterwards for being so short with her, but she'd just told him to hush, placing one of her fingers over his mouth. She smiled again, a bit sorrowfully, and told him sweetly that there was nothing to forgive.

The light in her eyes kindled his own and he loved to look at her, if only to catch a glimpse of those sparkling brown eyes looking adoringly at him. That day before he'd run off, she'd looked at him with those same eyes and they told him that she would miss him. Tears swam in those bright eyes, but she smiled on bravely, like the Gryffindor she was. He waved to her before setting off. His heart now felt unbearably heavy.

And the little minx hadn't obeyed. After the Horcruxes were all destroyed, he returned for a short time and whispered to her of his plan, still believing that she would stay put as he asked. The battle began slowly and was over in seconds it seemed. Everything was happening too fast and he couldn't slow it down. And then...

... There she was.

She twirled, weaving in and out of the forms of Death Eaters, hexing and blocking other spells. Hogwarts was half-fallen behind her, the castle on its knees, as if it was begging for mercy right along with Harry's heart. He glared in rage as he watched as recognition fell onto the loathsome creature's face. "_Ah_," it whispered in a hissing voice. "_Little Ginny._" She saw him and tears slid down her white, shocked face, but she continued her dance with a bold smile.

She didn't even have a chance. He struck her down before she'd moved an inch.

Her body crumpled, down, down, down it fell, that smile frozen on her lifeless form, collapsing dead on the grass.

"_She was dear to you, was she not? Shame_," the voice said, a lilting laugh present as though he was not sorry at all. Rage bubbled through his veins and he was not able to stomach the anger. He retched and the voice laughed again. He turned back to the half-man and threw a hex at him. Within the course of a minute, the Dark Lord was no more.

He was beyond grief as he knelt by her body, his hand holding hers. She wasn't dead. It was just like last time. _Wake up, now, he's gone, sweet. He won't touch you again. I got him, he's gone. Wake up, dearest…._ But Ginny just kept smiling and he sat there, staring blankly at her eyes, which were closed, never to open again. She looked so dreamy, he went on thinking she was still asleep, and his heart knew better, but he wouldn't stop hoping that this was all some twisted and unfunny joke.

They tried to pull him away, but he wouldn't leave. He only stayed by her, glaring at the sky, and wishing she would open her eyes just one more time. Her mother came finally, and pulled his hand out of Ginny's and took him away from the scene. It took a week to get over the initial shock, full of much hushed conversations with her family and a whole lot of tea.

The man sat down in front of her grave and set down the roses he had brought. But they had wilted. Those unwilling tears began to form and break free of the barrier he had built and he cried over her for the first time. "Ginny..." he whispered.

"Harry?"

No, the voice was too good to be true.

"Harry...?" the voice called him again.

He closed his eyes, not minding the rain that started to fall. Only he couldn't feel it. He opened one eye; it was definitely raining, but he wasn't getting wet.

"Harry!"

Harry James Potter awoke with a start. Sweat pooled on his chest and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His wife was looking at him worriedly. "Are you alright, Harry? You were calling my name," she said softly.

He blinked for a moment and groped for his glasses that were currently resting on the side table. He put them on and the world fell into focus. She was smiling at him cautiously. He nodded. "I'm alright," he said. She had a pained look and her hands were in little fists about her stomach. "Ginny, what's the matter?"

She laughed shakily and made a sound of pain as her face contorted again. "I think it's time, darling," she said weakly. He wasted no time.

And that was how Harry Potter ended up sitting in his living room, while a Mediwitch attended to his wife in the few hours of labor before the delivery of their first child, a son.

It was eight years later. The war was over.


	2. Proof

Disclaimer:

_J.K. Rowling owns these folks,_

_But thank you for your time;_

_I'm sure you're smart enough to tell_

_What's hers and what is mine._

A/N: The second installment!! Read and review, please.

**Proof**

A sweltering, humid day was before them. Exams were completed and Obligation stepped down from its' glorious throne, crowning a new ruler in her stead: Relaxation. And rule, it did, while the weather around them turned finer with each passing day. Sunshine was a constant companion in the last days prior to the long summer holiday. Hair clung stickily to the backs of people's necks and pieces of parchment soon became tiny paper fans, swatting a pitiful breeze into the faces of their makers.

Girls began wearing scandalously short skirts –much to the pleasure of the male population of Hogwarts, who rather forgot the heat in the presence of their girlfriends- and tops as small as they could manage without losing points from displeased professors.

People forgot about rules and regulations, possibly because of the laxity of the atmosphere, and several couples received detentions for late-night wanderings and the like. No one had time to consider what the professors were going through, (which perhaps they ought to have –several were scarred for life after happening upon Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown in various empty classrooms). They were all far too busy with more favorable distractions.

Which was why he was on the grounds today. It may have been wickedly hot, but he didn't mind. A few other students had the same idea as he, sitting by the edge of the Lake, their feet dangling over the bank to wiggle toes in the cool water. He was laying flat on his back, staring at up at the pristine blue of that day's sky, guessing at the silly shapes of clouds. He would have rather been idling away the free time with friends, but he knew that they were busy.

Two of the three were likely to be in the broom closet and he had no intention of attempting to break _that_ up. Not only because of the emotional trauma it would cause, but also because he was sure of his sister's temper, aim, and delivery. A triple threat. And of course, Miss Scholar of the Millennium (for the past few millennia running) had yet to be reminded that exams were, in fact, _over_. She was still in the Library studying, because "you can never be too prepared", or so she had told him the previous evening, in that bossy, snappish tone she reserved just for him.

He would have responded in kind, of course, but he was so caught off guard by those eyes, that he couldn't utter a word. He had simply scoffed and walked away, half stalking, half slouching. He almost laughed in spite of himself at his lack of control around her. He should have been an expert by now at shielding his feelings, but she just seemed to get to him somehow. If he had the "emotional range of a teaspoon", someone was going to have to explain to him how that was true. He couldn't see how the latter was even possible. Perhaps it was the shattering repercussion of stumbling upon a snogging pair caught unawares.

That was certainly daunting. But he suspected his lapse of sanity had less to do with that horrific ordeal, and more to do with his strange and occasionally disturbing emotions, which had grown much stronger since the end of the educational year. It honestly had something to do with the realization that there was only one more year left. Then he'd leave this place forever. She'd be gone. And he didn't want to let this chance pass him by again. So many times, he had almost managed it. Then he'd had a small slip of the tongue and said those four words he _never_ thought he'd be able to get out of his mouth.

"I love you, Hermione."

But she had seemed to think he was only teasing and not sincere at all, which vexed him terrifically, but honestly. Who could blame her? He hadn't really been friend material, let alone material of a completely different nature. That Lavender debacle had certainly proved him to be somewhat of a prat. And a spiteful, mean prat at that. After he'd ditched Lavender –or, perhaps to be politically correct, after she had given him a thorough verbal beating and screamed for any and all to hear that they were _through_- those nearly irrepressible emotions had rolled together and created this sort of ram in his chest, battering and slamming against his now-bruised innards to escape.

Then of course, Harry and Ginny weighed into the equation, what with their whole new 'relationship'. It was getting awkward on the nights when the couple would go of to 'study', often times leaving him and Hermione alone in the common room together. The first minutes would be nearly unbearable and then one of them would say something to break the uncomfortable silence and quell the blush creeping on to both faces. They would both laugh uneasily and then get on with it. He found himself pretending he needed help with homework, if only to spend more time with her, even if all he did was look at her while she muttered something about his academic ineptitude.

And Harry had found out about that somehow. The teasing was unmerciful at first, although Hermione was clueless. But Ron was simply grateful that he hadn't notified Ginny of the situation. Not _that_ would have been unendurable. She was ruthless and unrelenting in her taunts, and he couldn't blame her; being the only girl in the family and growing up with six brothers had to be tiring in every possible way.

But the main point was that he was losing his nerve, his cool and collected promise that he was going to keep his mouth shut because she would never feel the same way. But her attitude after Lavender was gone was very befuddling. She was being nice to everyone, including him, for a start. She'd give lame excuses like "it's a nice day", but she had also said that during one of the most violent thunderstorms Hogwarts had ever seen. Yet she maintained her justification of "the weather." He was almost positive that it had a little less to do with the rain battering the windows, and a little more to do with the fact that she was sitting by him, and Lavender was nowhere to be found. But then he shrugged it off, telling himself he was being overly-confident.

She was still behaving that way the next day and the day after, for a whole week, when finally the after-effects wore off, just like they had on him. And she was back to being bossy, snappy Hermione, telling him what to do or simply telling him off. But he liked her that way. It was this same girl he had fallen in love with, was it not? He wouldn't want her any other way. He also wasn't going to _get_ her, but the sentiment was uplifting, all the same.

He sighed audibly and looked up at the clouds again. The hippogriff-looking one was long gone. But there was a dragon, and a broomstick, and a spider (he cringed, and tried not to look at that one) to keep him occupied. But his thoughts continued to wander aimlessly and they always seemed to crawl back to reflect on that girl so dear to him. Who else could brew an insanely difficult potion or figure out a teacher's dark secret or... or a hundred other things? And that always led him back to the sad realization that she must know about his feelings and just didn't feel the same way.

"Ron?"

There came the voice, the one he really didn't care to hear right now. It was as though she had jumped from his mind and onto the grass five feet away, wringing her hands in hesitation. He was sure he was blushing the darkest color of scarlet imaginable. Well his color scheme matched that of Gryffindor; now he just had to start acting like one.

"Hermione," he said easily, propping himself on his elbows as she sat down next to him, fanning out her long black skirt.

That was another thing: so modest. Over half the girls at school had on shirts so tight and petite, he was surprised that the things –he was sure they couldn't be called clothes- were covering them at all. But he assumed that that was the whole gist of the clothing. But here was Hermione, in ninety degree weather, still wearing her school uniform and looking just as pretty as any other girl. He found her disapproving cluck of the tongue at the other ladies whenever they passed by highly amusing, but of course, he kept his silence.

"So what have you been doing? Besides being _lazy_," she said, rolling her eyes, but her smile was genuine: it reached her eyes.

He shrugged, grinning at her. "Well, being lazy comes natural, so there really isn't much else for me to do. The outcome will be the same," he replied smoothly. Her eyes glittered. "The question is, what have you been doing? Studying, I assume?" Ron asked, hiding a laugh behind one of his hands.

She gave an indignant huff. "Well, yes. Next year's our N.E.W.T. year, Ron, and it's-"

"Always good to be prepared," he chorused. She glared at him, but the spark hadn't left those eyes. "I know. And no, I don't want to fail my N.E.W.T.S." he said good-naturedly, for he was sure that had been what she was about to protest. The smile returned. "But, honestly, Hermione, everyone calls it quits at one point. It's _summer_." He gestured to all the surrounding greenery and thick heat surrounding them as if to prove his point.

She rolled her eyes again. "As if I could have missed that," she said, her lip twitching. She inclined her head in the direction of several girls standing on the bank of the Lake and getting thoroughly told off by Professor McGonagall. She raised her eyebrows and sniffed in a disdainful way, shaking her head. He laughed. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, unable to hide his smile. "I just think you haven't ever relaxed for as long as I've known you, Hermione Granger."

"Is that so?" she sputtered huffily.

"That's so," he said nodding. He stared straight ahead, but watched her reaction out of the corner of his eye with pleasure.

"Well," she said finally. "You're wrong."

"I am, am I?" he declared in a mock-resentful tone. It was always fun to push her buttons.

"Yes, you are," she said, the smile returning once more. She knew that he hated being proved wrong, especially by her.

He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. And then he whispered in her ear those two words that would surely get her fired up.

"_Prove_ it."

A look of fierce determination was borne onto her features, and she looked at him, before extracting her hand from beneath his with a well-placed flush of the cheeks. He coughed unnecessarily and she stared at the ground as he sat up again and moved a bit farther away. But when she finally looked up, her expression was just as dogged and unwavering as before.

"I will," she said, leaning back to rest on her elbows, keeping her gaze even as she looked from the clouds to him with delight skirting her cheeks, which were rosy from the heat.

He scoffed. "_Sure_ you will," he said, taking great care as he took up more of her position as he scooted closer. They both looked at each other at the same time and she beamed at him. That was a bad idea. That dazzling smile was like some heavy intoxication that he couldn't get over.

This time it was she who leaned in and whispered, him shuddering slightly from the awkward closeness(which he hoped wasn't noticeable -that would have been embarrassing).

"Just _watch_ me," she hissed, her eyes teasing as she drew away again. She returned to her watch of the sky, every now and then casting him a shy glance. Her eyes danced in the sunlight, egged on by the fire kindled in his own.

Ron sighed.

_Hermione_, he thought. _How could I do anything else?_

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Happy Easter, dear readers. May God bless you over the holidays.

--Christen


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